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Hey dude.

This time three years ago, I was probably sitting in that green glider we have in the corner now. There’s a good chance that I had a dish full of dried pineapple and almonds, and that I was watching Northern Exposure. OrFriends.

I probably wasn’t actually watching it, though. When I think of the time when you were born, what sticks out the most in my mind are the hours I spent staring at your face. I had gone my whole life just assuming that I’d have babies and have a family and it would be cool, the end. I had no idea what that actually meant. I had no idea that I would get this automatic companion . . . someone who would see me all day, every day for the next few years of my life. When I get frustrated and yell, you forgive me every time. When I think something is funny, you laugh right along with me, even though you have no idea what I’m laughing at. You tell me I’m pretty when I come home from a facial.

I could go on and on with the sappy stuff, but what it all boils down to is that I love you. I love you so much that it randomly hurts for no reason at all. These are some of the things you say and do right now, because I don’t ever want to forget them:

You like to cook “termato” soup. You also like to play games on the “kerpeeter.”
You love love love playing with your “fwiends.”
You love to get all up in Lucy’s business and say “Hi Looser Gooser. HI LOOSERGOOSER!”
Last week you said, “I wuv snuggling daddy. I wuv him.”
Sometimes you hold my hand when you watch cartoons. Sometimes.
For a while there, you liked to snuggle “Zelda” when you sleep. (It’s actually a Link doll, but it’s close enough.)
You will take anything you have in your hands (pretzels, blocks, bowling pins) and play imagination games with them. You make the little things walk around and say, “Where my fwiend?” “I right here!”
Five is the biggest number in the whole world to you. When I ask you if you want a treat, you say “Five uh um!”
Sometimes you fart and make yourself cry. That, I’m telling you, is hilarious. You’ll appreciate the humor in that someday, I swear.
Lately, instead of saying yes to something, you say, “Yep sir, yep sir.”
You still pretty much only eat carbs and cheese. And yogurt tubes. Remember that one time you ate celery? Just the one time?
You love your grandmas and grandpas like CRAZY.
You like to give your daddy “butt bombs.” Those look like crazy pro-wrestler moves, and I’m glad you give them to him and not me.

I know there are about a bajillion more things I could write here, but I think that’s enough for now. I’ll be back with more Charlie-isms in the future.

I love you, little dude. Three looks good on ya.

We’ve been living under Quarantine over here.

At first, holy crap a month ago,Lucy got a cold. Said cold then turned into sinus infection. Sinus infection went away with antibiotics, and then Charlie got a super-high fever and stomach bug. Two days of not being sick later, and Charlie and Lucy both get a cold. I then get a cold. Lucy then barfs all over me and decides a trip to the ER would be just the ticket.

Also, our computer was in the shop for two weeks. (She’s back now, yaaaaaay!)

I could definitely complain for about four more pages, but I think I’d rather show you guys some pictures of what we’ve been doing while in quarantine. I have a hard time keeping Charlie occupied as it is, and we used to be having playdates a couple times a week. Now, of course, we’re all going stir-crazy, but I think I’ve done an okay job of coming up with fun stuff to do.

Indoor snow, food coloring, water, bottles, and cups.

Shaving cream, food coloring, splattering, and a little bit of cleaning up.

Portable disc golf basket, and a tarp to protect the window.

Sink play with yet even more food coloring, bottles, cups, and a ladle.

Cloud dough. This didn’t look nearly as messy on Pinterest.

Shapes bowling with some marbles found in the creepy storage space upstairs.

All in all, Quarantine hasn’t been quite as bad as I thought it would be, but I’m here to tell you, Charlie and I miss our friends. Next week (providing we’re all healthy), I’m going to do my best not to look too desperate when I show up on my friends’ doorsteps.

It can be awfully easy to get all selfish and self-pitying, can’t it?

No one understands what you’re going through . . . you’re somehow busier than everyone else . . . everyone gets what they want and you’re the only one who has to make sacrifices . . . right?

Blech. I hate feeling that way, and what makes it worse is knowing that the only thing that’s going to make anything better is me changing my attitude.

Now, this post is not meant to be an advertisement for birth control, but having two kids is hard. There might be some super-moms out there shaking their heads at me, but that’s fine. They can just watch smugly as their two-year-olds rub their feet and wash the dishes and shake their heads right on out of here.

The other day, Paul made some joke about hiring a nanny and I actually said something totally serious like “I just don’t think we’d be able to afford that.”

Do I actually want a nanny? No; I love staying at home and being a mom. Would I like to poop by myself every once in awhile? Yes, actually, yes I would. If we were bathing in money, I would pay someone to hang out with the kids for two hours, three days a week. I honestly would. I could get some work done, shower, blog, re-watch all six available seasons of Doctor Who on Netflix . . . whatever. I know that some people might call that “pre-school,” but, again, if someone can provide me with a bathtub full of money, I’d be all over it.

Here’s the dealio, yo’s: this is what we’ve got. This is the path we’ve chosen, and I think we all know that pretty much every path has its bumpy patches. Sure, I’ve been basically attached to the same little person for six weeks now, which means I’ve been completely alone for a total of . . . I’m going to say . . . four hours in the past month and a half. But, really, that’s okay, because now she’s started smiling real, non-gas-induced smiles and still does that awesome full-body baby butt-stretch, which is one of the cutest things in the world.

Sure, Charlie is going through what seems like a never-ending pants-peeing stage . . . but after he pees his pants he’ll smile and do this wiggly noodle dance and run away in order to diffuse the situation.

How . . . I mean, really, how do you even react to that? If you’ve never gone from seeing-red-pissed to almost-pee-your-own-pants-laughing in .06 seconds, babysit a toddler with potty-training regression. Looking for a trial subject? Have your people call my people.

Remember when you and your husband used to have all the time in the world to hang out with each other, go grab a drink, or even talk for more than five minutes without either a) hearing someone scream “You count to ten!” or b) falling asleep?

I vaguely do. Vaguely.

Back when we had that freedom, though, we had no idea what it was like to look at our two kick-ass/exhausting children and feel what it’s like to be that in love with that many people.

Right now, those quiet moments may be rarer than the frustrating, pee-and-puke ones, but, again, that’s what we’ve got. No one’s going to make me love my life but me, and the more time I spend feeling all “waaaaah, waaaah, waah” the less time I’m going to have to enjoy it.

So there, Self. Enjoy your 25 minutes of sleeping baby time and have another cup of coffee.